


apres elle

by waitfortheclick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Death, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 12:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10594326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitfortheclick/pseuds/waitfortheclick
Summary: Castiel, in the wake of Meg's death.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I wrote about 4 years ago and never bothered to edit. If you see something, say something!

“I keep waiting for her to come through the door.”

“Cas-”

“I’m aware of the pain she caused you and your family. Perhaps I should talk to Sam, considering his experience in such matters.”

Dean huffs a laugh, “Yeah, somehow I doubt he’d want to hear it.”

In Kevin’s cramped bedroom, Dean leans against the wall and looks at the air by Castiel’s ear. He’s hunched over, sitting on the bed and Dean’s never seen that look on his face before. Dean clears his throat and clenches his jaw, and Castiel looks up at him with that unfamiliar expression. He clears his throat again and mentally curses at himself. He shouldn’t have allowed this conversation to become so awkward, he feels the reigns slipping away and he’s in uncharted territory. He thinks, “This is some deep celestial angst shit you’re wading into, Winchester, what were you thinking?”

“I felt it when she died. I asked her if she felt it when Ruby died, but she wouldn’t answer me.”

“Cas, I don’t wanna hear this.”

“Then leave.”

He opens and shuts his mouth, blinks a few times and feels shocked and stupid. He doesn’t leave, though. Because if there’s one thing Dean does, it’s stay, for better or worse.

“There’s a hole in me that I’m sure will remain until I die. Just as there will be from Anna, and when you and Sam die.”

“Cas.”

“I am very old, Dean. The way I am, as you know me now, is only the most recent aspect of my evolving persona. You and Sam have made me feel young, I’ve gone through more changes within the past few years than I have throughout my entire existence.”

Dean isn’t sure where this is going, but he also doesn’t know what to say. He is inexplicably annoyed by this situation, being treated as an angel psychiatrist and thrust into a conversation that’s making him feel very small. Still, he stays.

“My feelings for Meg are, were, largely influenced by these changes, and I know this might be difficult to hear, but by extension connected to my relationship with you and your brother.”

Castiel isn’t looking at him, and he still can’t read his face, but Dean detects a bit of sarcastic contempt in his voice. He’s reminded, suddenly, heartbreakingly, of a motel room after Castiel came back from Purgatory, a talk about regrets and fear. Feeling a new urgency, he clears his throat, rolls his eyes at his own awkwardness.

“You aren’t feeling, uh, like you wanna off yourself…”

“Honestly? I don’t know. Those feelings were born from guilt, shame, desperation. I didn’t kill her, but she’s gone. I can’t bring her back, look what happened with Sam. I don’t know if I could, anyway, I don’t know where she is. If I could, then, what? Meg existed to survive. If I could bring her back, as she was, as evil and as complicated, how could you accept me? How can I mourn for someone that hurt my friends? On one hand, I don’t care what either of you have to say about it; on the other, she was dangerous in a way that a resurrection would be criminal.”

Dean can’t help it: “This is way, way out of my wheelhouse.”

“I could just talk to myself.”

“No, you know what, I’m sorry. I’m staying as long as you want me here.”

“I cared about her, I still do. I’m not sure why, and it scares me. I felt the same way when I rebelled for you. But you’re human, I followed my Father’s code and rebelled for something good, something worthwhile. I knew almost nothing about her, but I know she was worthwhile.”

“She killed people, Cas.” He says it softly, not wanting to break this spell; now he’s more invested than scared.

“So have I. So have you, and Sam, and Bobby, and Anna…”

“That’s different, we’re, we’re…”

“The good guys?” His voice is soft, and Dean sighs.

“Yeah.”

“And she was a thing?”

“Cas…”

“I’m a thing.”

“You’re an angel.”

Castiel smiles and looks at his hands folded neatly on his knees.  "When you say that all I can think of is her. Uriel was an angel, Raphael was an angel, Zachariah, Michael, Lucifer…“

"Yes, but you’re - they - they…”

“We are monsters, Dean. Have you ever stopped to wonder why we carry swords? Why do angels need weapons? Why do angels need weapons that can kill other angels?”

“Cas, I-”

“Her face, her true face, is burned into my eyelids and every time I blink I see her.”

Dean really looks at him this time. Really takes in the rumpled coat, the frayed sleeves, the missing buttons, the torn hem. He wonders if it still smells at all like that reservoir. He doesn’t look sad, or even angry. He looks a little tired, but mostly he looks, and Dean’s starting to understand, he looks like this is just one thing too many. He looks like he’s stuck between yelling and crying and falling asleep, with a little existential uncertainty. Dean thinks he might have to invent a word just for him, just for the look on his face and the slump of his shoulders.

“I didn’t even know her that well.”

Dean sighs.  "Yeah.“

"She talked about… after. She saw a future, made tentative plans. I found myself buying into it, despite my better instincts.”

Just like that he can’t look at him anymore, shifts his gaze to the air again. He ignores his uncertainty and panic and forces himself not to say, “You belong with us, anyway.”

“What right do I even have to mourn for someone I barely even knew, for something I’ll never have?”


End file.
